ii. Chimera

She dreamed of warmth, of the smell of grass and sunlight pulsing gold on her skin. Blue eyes, green eyes. Loving eyes. Love in a time before hate. The laughter of identical, red-haired children. Red robes, red hair, red blood. She dreamed of poppies and phoenix wings. Fire warm enough to burn away the cold.

She awoke to spectral green light and silence, mirrored pools and dead things. Trapped in the thrall of a whispered voice and the fleeting touch of long fingers. The mist, the air, seemed to writhe with his presence. He was in the very stones. Ginny felt like she could only breathe when he was close by. When he was gone, she felt incomplete somehow, like she didn't fit inside her own skin. She hated him, and she was drowning without him.

So to keep her head above the silver and green floodwaters that threatened to pull her under, she wrote things. She wrote on the walls, on the floor. She wrote about the feel of grass under her feet, the rush of air when flying, the smell of rain as it fell on the chicken coop at the Burrow. But then had come candlewax and leather-bound books and crisp white paper. And after that she wrote about the cold darkness, the smile that tore her mind open and poisoned her heart. Words, words, words. Looping, scrawling letters that trailed across the slick stones. The scratching of a quill against the hard surface. It reminded her of the world above, that there had been a time before Tom, a time before her life was water and reflections, a time before words were lies and reality was as blurred and liquid as the swirling depths of emerald quicksilver that swallowed her whole.

When he came back to her she felt it instinctively even before she saw him through the parting tendrils of dense air. Invisible chains like interlocking serpent scales drew her towards him. She was losing the awkwardness that inevitably came on the cusp of adolescence, acquiring instead a strangely fluid, serpentine grace that she could only have learned from him.

"Let me tell you what's been happening in the world," Tom said.

The mist hung around them in heavy green veils. The chamber echoed the whisper of his steps across the ancient floor. "It knows me, you see," he had told her once, his voice lingering in the elusive air. "This place recognises me and what I am. What I will be. When the older self is gone and the new shall rise stronger than ever."

"Your older self," she choked. Sickness roared inside her. "You mean -"

"But of course. The world cannot hold two of me." His voice was distant, dreamy, lost in reflection. "The world can barely hold one of me."

Now he stood before her, calm and collected save for the intensity in his eyes. "London is burning. Have you ever seen the sky on fire, Ginevra? Believe me, it is a sight you would never forget. It brings back memories, memories I thought I had -" he broke off abruptly, looking away, his gaze dark and distant. He pressed his hands against his forehead, startlingly white against the black of his hair.

"You're tired," she observed flatly.

"Mmm." His fingers were tracing light circles over his brow. "Having a destiny can be a wearying thing sometimes."

He leaned back against the cool stones, studying the vast, cavernous ceiling that opened above them. "I have worries, concerns. They weigh upon my mind. It is no easy task, making the world anew. There is still so much I have to accomplish. I have been gone for too many years. So much time has been wasted, and the world has changed almost beyond recognition."

Yes, Ginny thought, watching him with an old expression on her young face. Tell me. Tell me everything like I used to tell you, and one day, when you least expect it, I'll do what you did to me. I'll destroy you with it.

"I need the ring," he murmured. "The ring that is bound to my other self. To change the future, I must follow the past, and ensure that my fate is not the same as his. Everything depends on it. He eludes me yet. But I'll find him."

"I don't understand," she said.

Tom looked up, as though seeing her for the first time.

"Oh," he said carelessly. "Your brother's dead."

Those words, so simple. So callous. Ginny staggered. The air rushed out of her world. Her mind reeled. It could not be true, he was lying, just as he always lied -

Her hands trembled, and she was shaking, shaking from head to foot. And him standing there, so calm.

She feel the thundering of her heart in her ears. Her vision blurred from green to red. Emotion, blinding and uncontrollable, was rising within her -

"You Weasleys throw away your lives so easily," Tom was saying. "Why is that?"

"Who - who -" She could not speak. Could not think -

He shrugged indifferently. "What does it matter? After all, one blood traitor is the same as another -"

The side of his face split open.

Ginny felt a warm spray of his blood splash against her cheek, hot and wet. She hadn't spoken. Hadn't moved. But there it was. A terrifying gash blazing down the line of his face, dark and vivid against his white, white skin.

Tom put a shaking hand to his bleeding face. He stared at her. "You -"

Ginny stared. How had she done that? She was trembling with the aftermath of uncontrolled magic, the heat dancing at the tips of her fingers, boiling in her veins. She had hurt him. She had made him bleed. Something uncoiled inside her (a creature with the head of a lion and the tail of a serpent) -

Rising from the stones, he looked like a snake about to strike; the coiling tension, the wide, hateful eyes, the snarling hiss of his mouth. Blood streamed from the open wound, his eyes glowing darkly through the hideous crimson mask.

"You do know," he said quietly, "That men have died screaming for less than what you've just done to me?"

A wild scream of laughter filled her chest, bursting through the thin bones, erupting from her hoarse throat. Kill me then, Tom. Then I'll be free of you.

He regarded her contemplatively. Long fingers deep in her mind. Then he said, "Perhaps I should kill you."

She looked up at him. Red hair hung over her face, red as the sheets of blood staining his pale skin. She didn't care. If he killed her now, at least she would have had the satisfaction of hurting him before he did.

"But no… that's what you want, isn't it? You still don't realise that there is nothing worse than death."

"Tell me," she forced through clenched teeth, "Which of my family is dead."

He paused, thinking about it for a moment. "The one you always complained was fussing over you. The prefect."

"Percy," she breathed. Mist cloyed and eddied in her mind. She sank mindlessly to the floor. Solid and cold beneath her, in a nightmare where nothing was real…

"He reminded me of myself, in a way. Gifted, ambitious. But he chose family, in the end. Your family."

She didn't recognise her own voice. "You killed him."

"Of course I killed him." He was watching her curiously, as though grief were something completely unfamiliar to him. "You see," he said, after some moments. "How useless sentiment is - how weakening. How do you expect to master the magics of this world if you cannot even master yourself?"

Ginny could not recognise the words through the roaring in her ears. Percy, she thought numbly. Percy with his serious face and horn-rimmed glasses, Percy scolding her for not keeping her books in order, Percy pushing a steaming vial of Pepperup potion into her hands…

It's my fault… he always tried to help… if I'd told him about Tom, if I hadn't been so scared, he would done something, he would have stopped him, before, before -

"Pathetic," Tom muttered, and left her seated, dry-eyed and burning, on the cold stones.

But she didn't cry. She already knew that tears were of no use in this place.

December 22nd, 1992

It was you.

Hello, Ginevra.

YOU LIED TO ME.

So you have learned the truth at last, I see. It took you long enough to get there.

You petrified Mrs Norris and Nearly Headless Nick. You attacked Colin and Justin.

No, dear one. You did.

I didn't - I don't remember - you made me -

I? I am bound within the pages of a book. How could I make you do anything?

You did you did you did you DID

And what if I did? Don't tell me you never thought about getting some of them out of the way - that clever Mudblood, for instance? We can go after her next, if you like. No one will find out, no one will ever know. It can be our secret. The things you've said about her - who would have thought that little Ginny Weasley could be so vicious?

I'll tell someone. I'm going right now -

And who will believe you? A hysterical first year who hasn't been sleeping and has no memory of where she has been? An infatuated child who would say anything to stop the school suspecting Harry Potter? And if they do believe you? What will they think of Arthur Weasley's daughter attacking Mudbloods? I doubt he would keep his job at the Ministry for very long, not with his little girl being thrown to the Dementors. Because this is Dark Magic, Ginevra. Enough to earn you a life sentence at Azkaban, at least.

I won't let you hurt anyone -

Let me? Child, you are me. Bound body and blood and soul. You are my eyes and hands and my will and I will never let you go, do you understand me?

Tom -

Now, poor thing, you must be tired after all this exertion. Why don't you lie down and go to sleep? Let me take over things for a while.

No - no - Tom, you can't do this you WON'T - stop please I've gone numb I can't

Shut up. What makes you think you can resist me? That you have the right? I say that there will be another attack tonight, and you will open the Chamber -

please no -

No? You once swore that you would do anything for me. Blindly, obediently, without question. You are the servant of Lord Voldemort now, remember that. And I will never leave you alone…

He found her at the base of the statue (why did this place always bring her back there?) bruised and barely conscious, covered in dirt and water, freckles standing out like spots of blood against her pallid skin. The last thing she remembered was a flash of searing light, ancient magic pulling at the threads of her skin, and stone shattering around her, falling on her, burying her.

Tom knelt beside her, an unreadable expression on his pale face. Cold fingers pressing against her faintly fluttering pulse.

"Never try anything like that again," he whispered against her damp hair. "Never."

Ginny moaned quietly and tried to move. Her bones groaned at the effort. Eyes straining to focus in the tangible gloom. The chamber stretched before her, long and serpentine. "Lumos," she whispered, unthinking, and the wand clutched in her numb fingers flared into life.

His mouth thinned, the light flickering behind him casting strange shadows beneath his dark eyes. He prised the wand from her trembling hand. "How did you get hold of this?" Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You know you can't leave here. But then, why would you try?"

A rasping laugh forced its way past her dry, cracked lips. "Did you really think," she muttered, her voice thick with hatred, "That I would just stay here?"

For a moment she thought he really was going to kill her. But the tension in his clenched hands relaxed and he smiled down at her almost fondly. "No. I didn't think you so obedient as all that." A pause as he regarded her wonderingly. "But you tried to kill me." He didn't sound angry at this, only curious.

She could hardly speak through the roaring pain in her skull. "I had to do something."

Tom chuckled indulgently. "Didn't you understand? I can't die. I have protected myself - protected myself in ways you can't imagine. But if you keep trying to do this, to escape me, it will kill you. Do you understand that?"

"Why should you care?" She lifted her aching head from the flagstones to look at him.

"Because," he said softly, "What are you but another part of me? How could I allow you to destroy a part of myself?" His lips stirring against her cheek, the whisper of breath icy cold on her ear. "Did you think, for a moment, that I would let you?"

Lightly, he brushed the tips of his slender fingers across her face, smoothing the tangled wet hair back from her brow. "Tell me," he said, his quiet voice hard, "That you will never do anything so foolish again."

She closed her eyes wearily. "I promise, Tom."

A pause in which she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. The chill, cloying air laid a cold touch on the surface of her flesh, welcoming her back into the enfolding depths of its prison.

"You're lying," he said at last. "I always know when you're lying."

"How… bloody… clever of you."

She rose from the water. Hair like Fiendfyre fell wildly over her thin shoulders.

Long fingers curled around her wrist, biting into the sharp bones. Ginny winced but made no sound. Through lowered lids, she watched the curves of his face, concentrated and absorbed. "You're dangerous," he said thoughtfully. "I didn't expect that. Twice now you have hurt me. It won't happen a third time."

"Did you tell Harry that before he escaped?" Ginny managed a bright hot, defiant smile. Harry, who always survived and who refused to die…

She felt a convulsive shudder pass through him, his face darkening with anger. "His time will come. Do you think I left any of this to chance? Fate has marked him and will bring him to me. But I will not make the same mistakes as the one that came before. No, I have waited too long for that. Harry will come because he cannot stay away, and when he does, I will destroy him. And you, sweet Ginevra,will be there to watch."

Ginny looked away, blinded by her reflection in the mirrored water. She suddenly felt very cold and alone.

Tom smiled at her. Voice soft, he said, "Did you really think, love, that I would end it without you?"